


What We Already Know

by tanaleth



Series: The Persistence Question [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Day Off, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fishing, Fluff and Smut, Human/Synth Relationships (Fallout), No radporcupines this time, Porn with Feelings, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanaleth/pseuds/tanaleth
Summary: Danse ducked under the canopy where he'd left his Power Armor without stopping. He turned sideways to squeeze through the door, over Cecily's laughing protests, and deposited her finally on an old mattress in the corner."Someone probably died on this," she pointed out.(Fishing! Feelings! Also smut.)
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor
Series: The Persistence Question [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702624
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	What We Already Know

The kitchen floorboards were bright with the sun, mostly because the windows hadn't seen shutters—or glass—since the War. But the small kitchen was functional and they'd enjoyed an unusually good breakfast of seabird eggs. Cecily sipped her mutfruit juice while Danse stifled a yawn across the table.

The lonely cottage on the coast wasn't so lonely these days. The two of them had put in some work on the defenses these last few weeks. The Minutemen used the site as a waystation, which meant that there were usually several armed friendlies in the immediate vicinity; thanks to Cecily's influence, they were largely off the radar of the Brotherhood. All in all, it was about as secure as a dwelling could be outside a major settlement. She'd even started to think about putting in a room for Shaun.

It would be good, perhaps, to stay in one place for a while. As long as that place wasn't a bunker even more depressing and isolated than the one poor old Paladin Brandis had lived in all those years. Danse and Shaun both deserved better.

It was still strange to look to the future. Even if settling down to family life wasn't quite in the cards, just yet, at least they were able to start… thinking. About how they could start over, and how they could move on together. All of them.

Shaun wasn't with them today, however. Nick had taken him under his wing for a few days. Cecily was slightly alarmed by the prospect of the child running amok in Diamond City, but there was no one in the Commonwealth she'd have trusted him with more. Except the man sitting across the table, of course.

That man was rubbing his eyes wearily.

"Did you get enough rest, sweetheart?"

Danse dropped his hand a little too quickly. "I always sleep well when I'm with you," he assured her.

She wondered if he really believed that—and if he did, what 'not well' looked like. But she was hardly one to talk. It had been months since the Brotherhood's triumph over the Institute and, despite her relief at the victory, Cecily wasn't sleeping very well either.

But she wasn’t going to think about any of that today. She pushed the empty juice glass aside and stacked the utensils onto her plate.

"Hush," she told Dogmeat, who was looking at her attentively.

"It's over to Abernathy Farm this morning, yes?" Danse asked over a mouthful of fried tato.

"Actually, I was thinking we should take a day off."

He set down his fork with a loud clatter. "A what?"

"A day off. I'll take you fishing."

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

He squinted at her suspiciously. "Often, yes."

Cecily pushed her chair back from the table and rose to her feet. "Danse, do you know what day it is?"

"Don't you have a Pip-Boy?"

"It's our anniversary, you big goon."

His mouth fell open slightly as he stared up at her. "I… didn't realize. Cecily, I'm so—"

She stepped around the table to lean affectionately against his shoulder. His arm snaked around her waist to pull her closer, but his face was crestfallen. Cecily patted his cheek. "If I'd wanted you to remember, I'd have mentioned it sooner. You had a lot on your mind this time last year."

"I still have a lot on my mind," he mumbled into her blouse. "I've never done this before, you know."

"Had an anniversary? Or gone fishing?"

"Either."

"Well, now's your chance." She traced a fingertip around the curve of his ear. "You never know. If the fishing works out, it could become a new food source for the local settlements."

"Let's just make sure _we_ don't end up as a new food source for the local mirelurks."

"Don't worry. I know just the place."

—

It was perhaps an overstatement to say she knew _just_ the place, but she did have a spot in mind. A small lake, or maybe a large pond, a couple of hours to the west. It was, in fact, not far from Abernathy Farm. Not a spectacularly scenic location, with a centuries-old shipping container and its contents spilled across a rocky beach, but a secure one: it even had the benefit of a resident Protectron and an unoccupied hut where they could spend the night. A perfect holiday destination for this day and age.

Cecily was relieved to see that the raiders had stayed away since her last visit to the area. Danse turned on the small generator out back and she checked the Protectron settings on the terminal. Everything seemed just as she'd left it. Especially fortunate, since Dogmeat had elected to go patrolling with the Minutemen, and there was no one else to watch their backs. And she was determined to make this a real day off.

She tugged off her armored jacket. It might not have the protection of Power Armor, but it did have the advantage of fitting through a doorway. In honor of their day off, she’d worn her favorite prewar blouse and cropped trousers underneath it.

Not that her partner was likely to care. He, of course, had worn his full suit of X-01. But when he pressed the hydraulic release and stepped down from the frame, Cecily was amused to see he’d forgone the matching underarmor in favor of the same ratty clothes he’d been wearing that morning. Danse’s idea of casual wear: t-shirt, jeans, and Power Armor.

He examined their surroundings as they ambled down the slope towards the dock. “It’s too bad your son isn’t here for this.”

Amazing how quickly that word had settled into their vocabulary. It certainly rolled off Danse’s tongue without any hesitation.

“He’s probably having a blast. Bet Ellie’s got him his own detective costume by now."

He tucked Cecily’s pack under one arm and glanced over at her as they walked. “Perhaps we can bring him next time.”

A scattering of prewar crates littered the dock. Danse set the pack on one while Cecily perched on another.

“Sure,” she said. “If we don’t end up as mirelurk food.”

“Despite my initial concerns, that’s unlikely. This far inland, we’re more likely to encounter rabid mongrels.” Danse scratched his unshaven jaw. “Perhaps bloatflies.”

“You should have met the mosquitos before the war. A handful of bloatflies are nothing.”

Danse’s blinked. Cecily smiled back at him.

“Hm. In any case, you're correct. We should assess the threat level before bringing a child here.”

“Not to mention that you won’t be able to teach him to fish until _you_ know what you’re doing.”

Danse looked a little sheepish. “That is also a consideration. Are there even fish in there?" He peered down at the murky water.

"God knows. Maybe under the dock." There were some soggy plants around, and in the mud, tracks of what looked like mole rats. Her Geiger wasn’t going nuts, and in short, it seemed as plausible a site for fish as any. “Or maybe if we…”

She extracted a lunchbox from her pack, pulled out a bit of hardtack, and tossed it out onto the water. It floated away for a few yards before sinking slowly under the surface, where it might or might not have been eaten by something.

“Hmm," said Danse, politely refraining from vocalizing his thoughts.

Cecily picked through the container. "I brought a few other things we could try as bait. I don't know if we can dig for worms here. So there's mirelurk jerky, squirrel bits—bloatfly, not terribly fresh—”

"Let's hope it doesn't attract anything other than the fish that might not exist. What did you use before the war?”

“All kinds of things. And there were different techniques and equipment for different species… but to be honest, I was never much of an angler. Fish are wriggly and messy."

Danse's brow rose. "You’ve never struck me as squeamish."

"A pre-war luxury. I wouldn't have lasted in the wasteland long if I’d kept it up.” She smiled a little wryly. “I liked shooting better.”

"Well, that’s fortunate.”

“Besides, it seemed mean-spirited to hook them just to throw them right back.”

“Throw them back?" He shook his head and pulled off his sunglasses. "So what was the point?"

“You know... sport. The challenge of the catch. That sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever understand your pre-war customs.”

“Come on. Like you never competed in… jumping off the Prydwen, or…”

“That’s different,” he said complacently, cracking his knuckles. “That’s not _wasteful_.”

She snorted. “Danse, you’d have loved it. Here. Rod for you, rod for me…"

Danse accepted the fishing rod and studied it carefully while Cecily sat on the ancient wood of the dock and opened her tackle box.

She'd come prepared. One of her best scavenging finds had been a sporting goods store; the main storefront had long since been cleared out, but the supply room in back was almost untouched. She'd stocked up on tents, stove fuel, fresh boots and socks—worth their weight in gold in the wasteland. It was all a bit dusty from two hundred years in storage, but otherwise surprisingly intact. And, of course, there had been the fishing gear.

Danse had apparently gleaned all the information he could from his inspection of the reel. He crouched at her side to examine the contents of the tackle box instead. "What is all this?"

"Sinkers, bobbers, spinners." Cecily tapped the compartments in turn. "Lures, if you want to try those. But we won't need most of this stuff today. We're here for fishing 101."

"I see."

She tied the last knot carefully. "Okay, give me yours." Her own rod strung, she took Danse's and repeated the operation, then handed it back to him and rose to her feet. "Now, if I remember correctly…"

She pulled back her arm to cast, not very far, and reeled it in slowly. It didn't seem to attract any attention, but it worked as a proof of concept. So she raised her arms to cast again.

"Yeah, it's coming back to me. You just have to… try not to catch the hook on anything"—Danse took a hasty step backwards—"or anyone. Sorry, sweetheart."

He frowned as she maneuvered the rod experimentally. "I miss having access to the Brotherhood scribes. It's almost certain they have instructional material on this subject."

"I'm sorry I didn't give you time to properly research for this trip."

"I wouldn't have been able to do it myself anyhow."

Danse spoke of his banishment more casually these days. Cecily was glad of that.

"Want to try? Here." She set down her rod on the dock and moved to stand alongside Danse, placing his hands on the rod and guiding his arm in the correct technique. Or what she hoped was the correct technique.

"This is quite the reversal of our early days," he remarked in her ear.

It was true. He'd guided her in the use of a laser rifle, helped her with the basics of hand-to-hand combat, but she'd been too numb to anything other than survival to notice the… physicality of the man.

Then again, he'd been in Power Armor for most of it.

"Here." She laid a hand on his arm, guiding it so the bobber floated gently on the surface.

Cecily left him with his brow furrowed in concentration and kicked off her shoes. The day had gotten a little overcast, but it was still high summer in the Commonwealth.

“Hold up,” said Danse alertly.

She glanced up. “Got a bite? Careful—reel it in just a little—”

The bobber jerked the surface, the line went taut, and then it slackened. Danse glared as the hook emerged above the surface, devoid of either bait or fish.

“Well, at least we know the mirelurk jerky does the trick.” Cecily unzipped her backpack and reached inside for more bait. “I also brought beer.”

“For the fish?”

“Nope.” She tossed him one.

“Outstanding.”

They clinked their bottles together and settled in to enjoy the afternoon.

—

“This is pleasant,” Danse remarked.

“Not boring?” Cecily nudged his shoulder.

“A little boring,” he admitted. “But pleasant all the same.”

"This is the lazy sort of fishing. Want to try one of those flashy lures? You have to sort of… wiggle it around, like you're playing with a cat." To her surprise, Danse understood immediately what she meant. "Yes, exactly like that."

He lifted a brow at her, brown eyes cool. "I've played with cats before, Sentinel."

"Have you?" She couldn't bite back a smile at the thought of her serious soldier engaged in mock warfare with a housecat. "I'll have to see that some day."

The wind was picking up. After a while Cecily got a bite of her own, but she had no more luck than Danse landing the biter. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure whether it had been a fish or... something else, but they hadn’t seen any mirelurks so far and they both had weapons within reach. There really was no such thing as a real day off, the sort where they didn't have to worry about raiders or wildlife or radiation. Cecily had been so damn spoiled before the war. Her problems seemed like blessings in retrospect. She'd worried for her husband's safety... but he’d only been one man.

How many people had been in the Institute that day? She’d set the alarm for the civilians, but there was no way they’d all made it out in time. And it wasn’t just the Institute. Cecily had so much blood on her hands.

To think she'd ever been squeamish about fish.

Danse was looking at her curiously. "What's on your mind?"

She told him, as lightly as she could, while she gathered the empty beer bottles and collected the caps. When she looked back over, he was watching her with eyebrows tilted at a slightly woeful angle.

"Are _you_ all right?" she asked.

"Yes, I—" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's not fair of me to burden you with my concerns."

"Tell me. Please."

"I saw the reactor go off, you know. It was a hell of an accomplishment. But I wasn't sure you'd… made it out." Danse's voice dropped. "I knew it was a sacrifice you'd been prepared to make. And I should have been happy to let you make it, for the good of the Commonwealth. I should have been proud..."

His shoulders twitched.

"And I was. I am. But until you came back," he said measuredly, "all I felt was... empty. A world without you wouldn't be worth it."

"Hey." Cecily moved closer. "I'm just one person, Danse. I'm nothing."

"You're everything," he said, and the echo of a year-ago conversation made her throat close up. "If anything happened to you, I…"

"You'd figure it out. You would." She rose to her knees and laid her hands on his shoulders. "I don’t think you ever really get over that kind of loss. But you can survive. Look at me." She cupped a hand under his stubbled chin and tilted it up.

A storm was definitely moving in. The breeze had picked up and the shifting light carved the lines deeper in Danse's face. He looked about as tired as she'd ever seen him. She brushed a thumb over his scarred eyebrow.

"Listen," she went on a little unsteadily, "If anything does happen to me, I need to know that Shaun…"

Danse's eyes flickered. "I'd ensure he was cared for."

"I know. It's not just that." Cecily swallowed. It still seemed like a lot to ask, but it was important. "He doesn't know what he is. And if I can't tell him myself, I want you to be the one to do it. When the time is right. Okay?"

"All right."

"Thank you," she breathed. She hoped Nate would have approved.

In fact, of all the things Nate might hold against her, Danse was probably the least of it. When she thought about it, the two of them had more in common than she’d thought during the early days. Not on the surface, maybe, but... 

More than one person had told her Danse was emotionless or cold. He was the farthest thing from either. He might not always show it, but he felt things deeply—to the bone. Cecily wasn't the only one haunted by losses and regrets. 

And now he had that soft look on his face, the one she'd never seen in their Brotherhood days. It still made her heart tremble.

She drew a breath and surveyed their surroundings. Wind rippled the surface of the lake. The sky to the south was darkening rapidly, and if Cecily's Pip-Boy hadn't insisted it was only three o'clock she might have thought she'd lost track of time. Whatever fish there might be clearly weren’t biting.

Danse, apparently, wasn’t ready to call it quits, even when Cecily laid down her own rod and curled sideways onto his lap. He only adjusted his arms to make room for her without letting go of the fishing rod. The hair on his chest crinkled softly under his shirt as she pressed her cheek to the worn cotton. She breathed in the familiar smell of him, the fresh air and the quiet rustling of the trees, and looked up at his face.

Every once in a while she remembered where he’d come from and marveled all over again at just how human he was. His throat bobbed, an old white scar moving over his neck; there was a smear of grease across his cheek from the Power Armor. His concentration was fixed on the lake as he slowly reeled in the line.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” she told him, overwhelmed by a wave of affection. There was one place in the Commonwealth she felt safe, after all.

When he glanced down at her, there was a glint in his eye she'd come to know well in the time they'd been together. His lips ghosted over her forehead, beard scraping her skin, and her eyelids fluttered in spite of herself.

"I do miss being able to check the weather forecast," she said, licking her lips. His eyes were fixed on her face. “Maybe we should think about going inside before…"

He shifted his grip on the fishing rod to a single hand and used the other to tuck the hair out of her eyes, methodically smoothing down every stray strand. She let her eyes drift shut under his touch and felt his lips brush hers.

She lifted her chin and kissed him back, a little harder, and her lips parted for his tongue. He sucked in a breath and his hand slid into her hair, undoing all the careful rearrangement.

A low, warning rumble of thunder echoed through the hills and Danse's entire body jolted. 

"All right," he said as Cecily rose hastily to her feet, "I think you may have had a point about—"

He was interrupted by a louder thunderclap, followed almost immediately by a gust of wind and the first drops of rain.

Their things were spread out all over. Danse rose to his feet after her, dropping the fishing rod without reeling in the line. The rain was already coming faster—was that _hail?_

Cecily struggled to keep her balance on the slippery dock while she jammed her boots back on. "If we get struck by lightning because you couldn't keep your lips to yourself, I'm going to— _oof_."

Her right leg went out from under her and time slowed to a halt. Cecily realized two things at once: first, that she was going to fall on her ass, and second, that there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it. She braced her neck for impact and then—

The rest of the air left her lungs when arms caught her up and pulled her close.

She squinted through the rain to see Danse, the eternally serious, grinning down at her. Aside from the difference in altitude, she was pretty much where she’d been a minute earlier.

"Oof," she said again. Her breathlessness wasn't entirely due to the fall. "You know, you could put me down now."

“Practicality recommends a more efficient course of action,” he said without missing a beat.

"Fine. Be a hero." She dropped her head against his shoulder, shut her eyes against the sting of the rain, and let him carry her wherever he felt like.

Where he felt like, it turned out, was the former Raider shack at the top of the hillside where they'd left their gear. The Protectron let them pass without comment. Danse ducked under the canopy where he'd left his Power Armor without stopping. He turned sideways to squeeze through the door, over Cecily's laughing protests, and deposited her finally on an old mattress in the corner.

"Someone probably died on this," she pointed out. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the rain drumming on the tin roof.

Danse glanced speculatively at the mattress. "No. Not recently, anyway. Hold on." He ducked back outside.

The shack wasn't especially weatherproof, although the roof seemed intact. The rain beat down even louder overhead as Cecily looked through a gap in the wall to watch Danse sprint down the hill to gather their remaining abandoned possessions from the dock.

Then she moved away to poke through her pack. There was probably a dry towel or two in there somewhere.

She was sitting cross-legged on the mattress when Danse reappeared with his arms full of rifles and fishing gear. He arranged the collection, as carefully as was possible, in the opposite corner of the one-room shack, then straightened.

"I apologize," he said seriously, "for my lapse in judgment. I should have been more attentive to the conditions."

"It's fine. Just a good old-fashioned summer thunderstorm. What are you—oh, good Lord."

Danse glanced up, eyebrows veering skyward. "Huh?"

She moved her gaze deliberately to the hands paused on his fly, then back up to his face.

"Oh. This water is highly irradiated." He stepped out of his damp jeans without a hint of self-consciousness and turned to hang them over the windowsill. "I would prefer not to remain in contact with it any longer than necessary."

She gazed at his back. He was so absurdly handsome, even standing in his socks with soggy hair and bare legs and a ratty shirt clinging to his broad torso. Her eyes followed it down over the curve of his ass, down to his powerfully muscled thighs—and she swallowed.

"Come _here_ ," was what she said.

Danse turned back with a spark of interest in his eyes, but when he took a step towards her and knelt at her side, she pounced. He made a low noise of protest as she ran her towel vigorously over his head. The rain still drummed on the roof above.

"Cecily—”

“That’s Sentinel Williams to you, pal." She rubbed harder, dragging the towel over his chest and shoulders, before releasing him and tossing the sodden cloth aside.

Danse lowered himself heavily to the mattress and scowled at her, running a hand over his rumpled hair.

"Here, I'll fix it," she managed through her laughter. She combed her fingers through the fluffy locks, smoothing them back into place. "Stop pouting."

"I'm not—"

She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, trailing just the tip of her tongue over his lower lip, and his arms came up around her.

Cecily scooted back, elbows scraping on the rough ticking of the mattress. He followed, rolling onto his back and hauling her on top of him, and she kissed him with all the warmth blooming in her chest. She loved him, damn it. 

"Your clothes are wet too," he said, straight-faced.

"I guess you want me to take them off." A large, warm hand slid innocently over her backside, then nudged its way up under her blouse. His other hand followed suit a moment later, stroking lightly up and down her sides, and Cecily shivered. "Think that robot can be trusted to keep watch a while longer?"

"I believe it should suffice."

His hands moved higher under her shirt and unhooked the clasp of her bra, then tugged it half-down and slid his hands around to cup her breasts. She saw his throat bob; when he ground against her, she tilted her hips to match his shallow thrusts. His hands left her breasts to pull her down against him and his lips sought hers—and then she broke away, wriggling from his grasp to rise to her feet.

Danse reached after her in protest.

"Clothes," she panted, pulling her shirt over her head and untangling it from the discarded bra. "Yours too."

He sat up and raised his arms to follow suit and… she'd been admiring him all afternoon, but the sight of his naked body never failed to stun her. In spite of everything, the Institute had done one thing right. Danse leaned back against the wall with a forceful sigh, rubbing a hand over his disheveled hair, and looked up at Cecily.

His hands reached out to steady her as she knelt on the mattress, straddling his hips. But before she could settle onto his lap, Danse slid down onto his back, guiding her knees one at a time over his shoulders. His breathing was coming fast, his pupils dilated, and he met her gaze with a question in his eyes Z she realized his intention.

She tilted her hips forward, digging her fingers into his hair to hold his head in place. His breath was hot and there was hardly any room left between them—no room at all left between them—as he looked up from between her legs.

"Would you like me to continue?" he inquired breathlessly. The rough stubble of his chin and the softer flutter of his lips made her pulse stutter.

"God, yes."

He lifted his chin obediently; the first long stroke of his tongue sent shockwaves through her body. But he coiled his arms around her thighs to stabilize her and all she had to do was hold on, hold on and breathe. His mouth worked vigorously, responding to her every twitch and ragged breath; the muscles of his neck strained and he tasted her with unfeigned eagerness.

Cecily let out a wordless noise and he murmured in response. The low hum had her shutting her eyes and leaning forward, letting go of his head and reaching out to brace herself against the galvanized wall behind the bed. But she forced herself to straighten so she could look down and meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

Her hands drifted to her own breasts as she rolled her hips, her breath coming faster and her skin flushing. She wasn't entirely sure who was leading, but it didn't matter. Cecily wasn't just aroused, she was exhilarated— flooded with a sort of vicious triumph. He was hers, after everything, _hers_ : the Institute was gone, Maxson was subdued, and she'd gotten what she wanted in spite of their best efforts. There was no one left to take him from her.

His hands rested loosely on her thighs; she reached down to cover them with her own, pressing them harder into her sensitized skin, and her body took over. She came fast and hard, still holding his hands in place but leaning forward, pressing her cheek to the cold aluminum wall. He kept using his mouth on her lightly, through each wave until she felt the tension building again, until her legs jerked almost out of his grip and she panted helplessly into the still air of the shack.

Danse’s grip on her legs tightened and his chest rose and fell with harsher breaths; his hands twitched as if he wanted to free them from beneath hers. Cecily glanced back over her shoulder, down his beautiful body, to see he was as excited as she was. His cock twitched against his abdomen and his hips thrust helplessly into the air and God, she needed—

She released his hands and rose to her knees. Her own wetness mingled with the sweat on his cheeks as he caught his breath, and another thrill ran through her to see him so undone. When she looked back again he was fumbling to stroke himself, movements jerky.

"Enough," she panted, "enough." She unhooked her legs from his shoulders and slid off his face with trembling thighs. "Sit up, darling."

Danse did as she asked, raising himself to his elbows while she moved down his body to sit in his lap. He held her in place and she watched his face, delighting in how his eyes went glassy when he thrust into her; when she leaned forward to kiss him, he caught her by the hips and pulled her closer until he was fully seated.

It was about then that Cecily lost what was left of her composure.

Danse made a choked grunt, breath hot on her skin, and started to thrust in earnest. She leaned back and rested her hands on the mattress for balance.

"Damn," she gasped as they moved. "That's really–"

"All right?"

"—good. Yes. Great."

He gave her a smile, half pleased and half smug, and tightened his grip on her hips, guiding her back and forth, up and down...

"God," she choked out. Her whole body was trembling. She was going to come again.

And then he was nudging her hips eagerly, lifting her off his lap and rolling her onto her back. The hot weight of his body pressed her down into the mattress; he pushed her legs apart and drove into her again and again. And she came, her mind splintering like glass, while he thrust deep and gasped into her hair with his own final surge, leaving them both panting and shaking on the makeshift bed.

—

They stayed there for a while, listening to the rain pattering on the roof over their heads. Danse propped up his knees and dozed at her side; his chest rose and fell steadily while she lay daydreaming.

At some point Cecily must have drifted off herself, because it seemed like only a moment or two later that the setting sun was streaming into the cabin behind her closed eyelids. The rain had stopped while they were asleep. Danse had risen in the interim: when she rolled over and opened her eyes, he was standing fully dressed at the foot of the bed with crossed arms, staring down at her.

"What's up?" she asked sleepily.

"All things considered," he said, "I'm glad we didn't bring your son on this excursion."

His brows drew together as she snorted with laughter.

—

The storm had cleared, leaving a freshness to the air of the early evening. It smelled a little like laser weapons, actually, but the lake was placid. The two of them had come back down to the dock. Cecily picked through their remaining rations, thinking of supper. Fortunately she’d brought plenty, since—as she’d more or less expected—they hadn’t actually landed any fish. 

Danse was still stubbornly trying, though. Cecily sipped a flat beer and watched him cast again. “How do you feel about squirrel stew?” she asked. 

“Favorable.” 

“Did you enjoy our first anniversary?”

He nodded solemnly. “I look forward to the next.”

“Let’s have lots.” She patted his shoulder. “I can’t believe we didn’t even have to fend off any mirelurks.”

"Yet."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Hold up. Got a bite.”

For an instant, Cecily was sure it would be a mirelurk. But as he reeled in the line, it became clear that—"I'll be damned. You actually caught a fish."

Danse removed the hook and held the flopping thing at arm's length.

“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary."

"I'm not familiar with that expression," he said, dropping the fish into a bucket of lake water.

“It means you look remarkably pleased with yourself. I guess canaries are probably extinct.” She was struck by a terrifying mental image of mutated beaks and talons. “God, I hope they’re extinct.”

“I trust you brought the Rad-Away?”

“Plenty of it.”

The two of them looked down and studied the bucket in silence while Danse's catch swam in slow circles. It wasn't any species she recognized. It was tiny, with bulging eyes and sickly-looking flesh that Cecily suspected would give anyone unwise enough to consume it an unpleasant case of gastroenteritis.

"I'm not sure this creature is likely to form the basis of a new food source," said Danse eventually.

"You do have to be careful with fish. I mean, it’s fresh, but it also looks…"

"Unappetizing?"

"I was thinking 'poisonous'.”

“Perhaps we could rinse it with fresh water.”

She met his gaze levelly. "Put the poor thing back, Danse."

He dumped the bucket over the edge of the dock. There was a glug, a splash, and a flash of scales as their prey escaped back into the sunset. The warm light illuminated his face as he looked back up at Cecily.

"I still caught more than you," he said with satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic: 


End file.
